


the last refuge of the failure

by dizmo



Series: two flints [7]
Category: Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Deals Being Made, Gen, Hapless Businessmen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23061403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizmo/pseuds/dizmo
Summary: Joe's shop is having some troubles and he can't get any help from any regular channels.That just leaves an irregular one.
Series: two flints [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639948
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	the last refuge of the failure

Opening the door of the small shop they share and causing the bells hanging there to jingle in a way very much in contrast with his mood, Joe Wilkinson looks over at Phil Wang behind the counter. "Another no."

"How many banks is that now?" Phil asks, bending under the counter to put something away.

"Feels like all of them."

"I think you said that after each of the last three."

"Doesn't make it stop _feeling_ like it."

"Too much longer without _some_ kind of loan, and I don't think we'll be able to get more stock at _all_."

"I know. Don't worry. I'll find _something_."

Phil smiles. "Of course you will. Persistence gets things done, and if we weren't persistent, we wouldn't still be here, would we?"

"Exactly. W&W Greengrocers. Proudly serving you for... a year and a half."

"After all, what great success story doesn't have a few rough patches early on?"

"We've put in too much work. I just need to be confident."

\--

"It's _hopeless_ ," Joe laments into his pint. "I try and I try and we _have a business_. It's _there_. We're not starting from nothing. But no. 'Unfortunately we feel the risk is too great at this moment for us to extend you a loan.' It's rubbish."

The barkeep nods sympathetically. "Rough break."

"There has to be _somewhere_ I can get the money from."

"Oh, mate, you need to be careful talking that way. There's people that would, but they'd end up eating you alive."

Joe takes another long drink. "Way my life is going, they'd _not_ give me the money and _still_ eat me alive for even asking."

"Wouldn't put it past most of them, to be honest. Well, I suppose there's always the Taskmaster, if you're feeling lucky."

"The what?"

"The Taskmaster. He's not on the right side of the law, but as I've heard it, he won't hurt you for asking politely, even if he does say no."

"Why do I have to be feeling lucky, then?" He pauses. "Not that I am _ever_ feeling lucky."

"Well you see, I've never had to go see him myself, but from what I've heard, sometimes you just have to pay him back, sometimes you have to do favors for him, but sometimes... sometimes, he's just strange. And you don't know what it'll be until he asks."

Joe furrows his brow. "Strange? Strange how?"

"Can't really explain it. For what it's worth, I haven't heard of anything _harmful_ strange. Up to you, but if you're thinking of going off the beaten path, there are worse places to go."

After that, Joe is silent for a while in thought, nursing his drink while the barkeep moves on to other customers. When he returns, Joe looks up.

"So where can I find the Taskmaster?"

\--

Joe Wilkinson is pacing back and forth in the street. He knows what kind of place he's about to walk into, and he knows he is grossly unprepared for it. He's wearing his best suit, because this is important and just because he's going to be petitioning a criminal doesn't mean he shouldn't at least put some effort into it. Still, though, that effort has not yet extended into actually walking into the building. That much takes another few minutes. He takes a deep breath, removes his hat and opens the door, walking in.

Before he takes three steps inside, he's greeted by a surprisingly elegant-looking woman with an amused smile on her face. "I was wondering if you were going to come inside before you managed to dig a trench in the street."

Joe ducks his head, abashed. "Sorry, ma'am. I've just had a... well, a week, to be honest. Probably more."

She smiles, not unkindly, resting a hand on his arm. "Well, you've certainly come to the right place, then."

"Honestly, I hope so."

"After all, we have a number of different options available. Depending on your personal tastes, of course."

" _Oh._ I. Oh. Er, well. I... No, well, I.." Joe finds himself amazed his face hasn't burst into flames.

The reply is a delighted laugh. "Don't worry. That too."

"No. I... no, madam, I'm... my apologies, I'm very sorry, I'm sure that your... ah, your hospitality is second to none, I'm sure, absolutely. It's just." He takes a deep breath. "There's another type of service that I'm in need of, and I was directed here. If you understand. Please understand."

Her eyebrows rise. "Oh! How silly of me not to have realized so right away." And Joe becomes immediately certain that this woman is _very_ good at her job. She looks over his shoulder at the barman, and he can't see her expression, but he knows what his would be in her place.

"Really wouldn't have expected you to. Probably should have thought that out a bit, sorry, ma'am."

"That's quite all right." She gives him a smile and continues on conversationally, although the volume of her voice has lowered. "So if you're here to see the Taskmaster, you go down that hallway. At the end of it, there will be a curtain with a Scotsman standing at it. Don't just keep going. Introduce yourself and why you're here and wait until he either lets you in or sends you away. Aside from that, just be truthful. And honestly? I also encourage you to be yourself."

Joe nods. "All right. Thank you, ma'am. See you later." He pauses. "I mean. Not like that. Well, I mean, not that there's... maybe sometime? Later. Once I--"

She laughs and leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Good luck."

Joe gives her a small smile and nods, heading down the hallway. As promised, there is a curtain and a man waiting beside it. When he sees Joe, he shifts to block the curtain, crosses his arms, and speaks. "What's your business?"

"Oh, hello. Nice to meet you." The man just arches an eyebrow and Joe clears his throat. "My name is Joseph Wilkinson. I'm a shop owner, well, with my business partner, and the shop's hit something of a rough patch. We've tried a lot to get a bit of money to shore things up, but nothing's worked and someone suggested the Taskmaster? So here I am. I swear, I'd do anything. Well, maybe not anything, but a lot of things."

The man at the curtain purses his lips and Joe is absolutely sure he's just said something terribly wrong, but there's no real way of knowing just yet. "Wait here. Step through the curtain before I get back and you'll regret it." And then he's gone, leaving Joe standing alone in the hallway.

Joe can tell that there are voices coming from the other side, but has no idea what they're saying. He honestly isn't certain that he wants to know.

He glances over his shoulder. It occurs to him that he could still leave. Just walk away and forget that any of this had ever happened. But no, he's there for a reason and it's important. It's not just his livelihood at stake here, it's Phil's, too. Not seeing this through would be selfish.

It probably isn't the year that it feels like before the curtain moves and the man reemerges. "All right. Go on in. The Taskmaster will see you now. Good luck."

Joe doesn't find it exactly comforting that everyone keeps wishing him luck, but regardless, he takes a deep breath and steps through into the room behind the curtain.

Honestly, it doesn't look that much different than the main room did. The color scheme's still the same, although there are a few more people loitering back here, most of whom Joe figures could probably kill him if they wanted.

The focal point of the room, though, is a chair... more a throne, really... that would look completely out of place anywhere else, but somehow fits here perfectly. And sitting on the throne is an absolute beast of a man who is very clearly the Taskmaster.

"Wilkinson, is it?" asks the Taskmaster.

"Yes, sir," Joe replies. "Pleasure to meet you." He's not entirely sure that's accurate, because 'terrifying' is probably a better descriptor, but being polite is important.

One of the Taskmaster's eyebrows rise, and he beckons towards Joe. "Well then. Come over here and tell me your story." He waves a hand dismissively to his left. "My assistant will be taking notes." That's when Joe notices the other man sitting on a smaller chair beside the Taskmaster, looking down at a book that is open in his lap. His attention then goes back to the Taskmaster as he speaks again. "Go on, then."

Joe nods and approaches, making sure to still stay a respectful distance away. "Right. Yes. So, my business partner and I, we've got a greengrocer's. Opened early last year. We've never exactly had people knocking down the door, but we have a clientele, and we weren't doing too badly for ourselves, on the whole." He shakes his head and presses on. "Few months back, another greengrocer's opened quite nearby. They have a bigger storefront, can stock more, and it just looks more appealing on the whole." Joe scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't begrudge them that, though! I don't! Everyone has to make a living, of course. It's just that... Well, it's lost us business. We still have people who shop with us, and I couldn't be more grateful for that, but... it's getting harder to scrape up enough to order stock, and the emptier we get, the worse it gets. Too much longer and we won't be able to stay open. I've tried the banks. Nobody's been willing to help us out. I guess they think we're a lost cause, but I think we just need, you know, a boost, and maybe we'll never do _as_ well as the other shop, but we should be able to at least keep afloat." He shrugs. "At least, that's what I think, and that's why I'm here, and I hope you can find it in you to help. But if you can't, I understand."

There's a long pause. The Taskmaster's expression is completely inscrutable. "Does your business partner know you've decided to come to me?"

"Well, not as such. I mean, rather, not at all. I told him I'd find something, I just never actually went into specifics."

"Interesting. And you told my associate at the door that you'd do anything in return?" 

Joe barely manages to repress a wince. "Well, mostly anything, begging your pardon. But I imagine that anything I wouldn't at least try, you wouldn't already know someone who could do it better than I could if I _would_." There's a short amused snort from behind Joe in a corner somewhere, but he can't manage to look away from the imposing figure of the Taskmaster in front of him.

"I see." The Taskmaster glances over at the notes his assistant made during Joe's explanation, probably collecting his thoughts, but making Joe hold his breath regardless. "Well, Mr. Wilkinson. You can be off. I'll need some time to contemplate your petition, and see if there's anything I need done that would be a fair trade." The Taskmaster pauses, looking back at Joe and nodding. "You'll have an answer within the next two days." He waves a hand in Joe's direction and turns back to his assistant's notes.

Joe takes the hint and leaves with some alacrity.

\--

"I might have some good news," Joe says when he enters the shop some time later.

Phil looks over at him from where he's trying to make the lettuce look like it's actually filling its display. "Well, I like good news."

"We might have a benefactor."

"I can't help but notice you used the word 'might' both times, there."

Joe smiles as confidently as he can muster, which is much more so now that he's here with Phil than when he was back there with the Taskmaster. "I explained the situation and actually didn't get a no straight off this time. It's just going to take a few days before I know for sure."

"Did you try to haggle?"

"I'm many things, Wang, but I am not _you_."

"It's nice that our skills complement each other's."

"Yes." Joe steps behind the counter. "But haggling is honestly not a skill _either_ of us have."

"All right, that's fair. So who's the benefactor?"

"Oh, a lead I got from the barkeep at that pub by where I live. We'll see how it goes." He starts wiping down the counter and continues to chat with Phil, topic shifting to things of much less consequence.

They both look over when the bell over the door jingles, watching as a cheerful-looking golden-haired woman enters, looking around curiously.

"Hello, miss. Can we help you?" Joe asks.

"Just wanting to pick up some fruit, thanks."

Phil immediately smiles. "Right over this way, miss. Any particular fruit you're looking for? We have some lovely apples in at the moment."

The bell at the door rings again and Joe looks over. Two customers at once is a luxury they haven't had much of lately. Their luck might actually be looking up. He chuckles to himself, then, as he sees the newest entrant. Technically _is_ a customer, so far as the neighborhood kids count. Word's gotten around that he'll give them a ha'penny's worth of sweets for a farthing. That word's not inaccurate, and sometimes even undersells it a bit, so that particular transaction goes smoothly enough.

By the time the kid's thanked him and run out the door, Phil's finished helping out the woman, who is heading to the counter with a few of the apples and some plums. Joe gives her a friendly smile. "What brings you into the shop."

"Oh, I was in the neighborhood," she answers, putting her selections on the counter. "Saw the place and dropped in. I was going to be making a plum pudding and decided that I may as well pick some up while I was by a shop and remembered."

"Well, we're happy to see you. Feel free to drop in if you find yourself in the neighborhood and without any plums in the future."

She laughs as Joe's packing up her fruit. "Don't worry. You'll probably see me again."

After paying, she heads out of the shop, bell still jingling a bit as Joe looks over at Phil. "See? Things are looking up already."

\--

It doesn't even take two days. The very next afternoon, in fact, Phil is off making whatever orders he can with their suppliers when Joe comes out of the back of the shop to find an envelope with a red wax seal on the counter.

He's taken somewhat aback by that as he didn't hear the bell on the door at all.

Joe picks up the envelope and looks at the seal. It has the simple impression of a 'TM' on it. Immediately he knows what it means. He glances around and then opens it and looks at its contents.

The letter inside is short and the handwriting very neat.

> _Mr. Wilkinson,_
> 
> _Bring to the House a potato that most looks like a person._
> 
> _If your offering pleases, your petition is granted._
> 
> _You have three days._
> 
> _Your time starts now._
> 
> _The Taskmaster_

What?

He reads it again, uncomprehending. No, he did not misread that. A potato that most looks like a person.

Joe then remembers the barkeep's words. _Sometimes, he's just strange._

This is by no means what Joe had expected by strange.

He reads the letter again. Just to make sure.

Then he runs to the shop's barrel of potatoes and starts digging.

\--

The Taskmaster didn't make him wait. So he won't make the Taskmaster wait.

Joe returns the very next day, having meticulously gone through all the potatoes in his shop. And several others. As luck would have it, though, his selection does in fact come from his own.

At least he has a slightly better idea of what to expect this time. He just hopes it will end up working.

The same Scotsman is manning the curtain again. As he goes to announce Joe's presence to the Taskmaster, Joe carefully withdraws the potato from his pocket, making sure it made the journey well enough. After another wait, he's allowed back to the Taskmaster's court again, so he enters, cradling the potato delicately.

"Wilkinson," the Taskmaster booms as he walks through the curtain, "You're certainly earlier than expected. Was there any confusion about the task I gave you?"

"No, sir," Joe says quickly. "The instructions were quite clear. I just didn't want to leave you waiting any longer than you had to be."

"So you have what I asked for?"

Joe holds up the potato. "I do."

The Taskmaster gestures to his assistant, who stands and approaches to collect the potato. The assistant is surprisingly taller than Joe is, which is much taller than he had initially assumed. That just went to show just how much of a giant the Taskmaster himself is, thinking on it. Joe promptly hands the potato over to the assistant, who blinks at it a bit before taking it back, handing it to the Taskmaster, and retaking his own seat.

"Wilkinson."

"Yes?"

"Is your potato wrapped in a _lace handkerchief_?"

"Yes it is, sir."

"Could you tell me why?"

"Well, sir, honestly, I thought the potato looked a bit like my gran. She wore lace kerchiefs all the time, so I thought it would be appropriate."

"So your grandmother looked like a potato."

"I wouldn't say so. But the potato looks like my grandmother."

"I see." The Taskmaster rests his free hand over his mouth pensively as he studies the potato. Joe waits for the verdict.

The wait takes an eternity.

\--

The bells clang together discordantly as Joe darts through the door of the shop. "Phil! I got the money!"

"What? Really?"

Joe is almost laughing with joy. "Yes! It should be enough to keep us well-stocked for _months_."

"That's amazing news! Exactly what we needed!"

"I know, I can hardly believe it." It's all Joe can do not to just spin around in place, but he refrains.

He is so glad that it worked out, as oddly as the process went, and as terrifying as much of it ended up being.

But he is still very glad he won't have to go through it again. Once was more than enough.


End file.
